


Snapshots in Memories

by EG_Potter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Feels, Fluff, includes Peggy in the modern world, otp, starspangledexchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EG_Potter/pseuds/EG_Potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six moments in the love story of Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots in Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission to the starspangledexchange on tumblr, intended for darling Sam (capsicle107). I hope you enjoy it, because I definitely enjoyed writing it!

**i. awake**

In her sleep, she hears bits and pieces of voices, muttering nonsense that she can’t decipher.

_“…Director, if the Aven …”_

_“…half the city…”_

_“…get the Captain…”_

Maybe it’s just all a dream, some hallucination that she’s now trapped in because of _bloody_ Howard Stark and damn his ideas. The bed she wakes up in is hard and she’s surrounded by wires and tubes and she recognizes absolutely no one. Her body is stiff and she feels like she hasn’t moved in decades – because she hasn’t.

She remembers fuzzy details, agreeing to a mad venture of Howard’s that he called _cryogenic freezing._ She had left SHIELD in its infant stages, in Stark and Colonel Phillips’ capable hands, for the hope of being part of a better future.

“We might need you then, Peggy,” she remembers Howard telling her on the day she went to sleep. “The whole world might have gone to pot by then and you’ll have to come save us all.”

And for her, at that point, the world had gone to pot. Only, in this groggy mental state, all she can remember is that there was a man who loved her.

A woman with a clipboard stands by her bed, writing down something from the screen above Peggy’s head. Across the room, she hears the door open, and someone stands in the doorway. He’s a man slight of hip and broad of shoulder, rippling muscles, and tidy blond hair. He holds himself with humility, but also with confidence. A small smile creeps over his lips, tears well in his eyes. There he is, in the flesh, and not a day older than when she saw him last.

“You’re late,” she accuses, barely able to contain her own smile. Her first words in so many years.

He blushes, wiping at the tears, “I couldn’t leave my best girl. Not when I still owe her a dance.”

He crosses the room, and gently takes her hand in his, his voice low and lilting, soothing, as he tells her of the last seventy-two years.

**ii. alive**

This man is her moon and her stars, her guiding light, and her saving grace. She smiles down at him with watery eyes that threaten to spill over as he kneels in front of her, a gleaming ring extended towards her.

“Peggy,” Steve says, clearing his throat as his voices catches and breaks. “I know we’ve been through a lot, and that I’ve hurt you in the past, but… I can’t ever lose you again. I’m sorry for what’s happened, for how long I’ve kept you waiting…” a pause, then, “Will you marry me?”

The warm nights swallows them whole and surrounds them with stars and she nods and whispers, “Yes, Steven. Of course.” In that moment she knows that they are both still broken, anachronisms in this world they’ve found themselves in. She knows that there are problems to solve and arguments to have, and she relishes in the thought of sharing those things with this man who is holding her so tight that her bones might break.

He kisses her, crashing his lips to hers, telling her how much he loves her. His fingers trace patterns over her skin the same way one handles fine glass: a feather light touch with a firm grip, enough to secure but not strong enough to shatter. He spins her around, their laughter bouncing off the trees in Central Park, until they’re both too dizzy to stand, too dizzy to speak. They fall together against the cool earth, laughing and loving, kissing and caressing, not caring that they are the center of attention.

Because _God,_ she’s never felt so alive.

**iii. finally**

She dances with so many people, so many faces whirling past as she spins in her white dress. She dances with a carbon copy of an old friend, his charm so much like his father’s. She dances with a god who she’s only ever heard tales of, but is now resting one hand on her slim waist. There’s an archer with nimble fingers, and a stern man with grizzled features. She is whisked away by a woman wearing a black dress and a conspiratorial smile, a woman who calls her sister and hugs her, with tell-tales signs of tears in her eyes.

But at the end of the night, there is only one person who matters. Now, he is hers and she is his, and the words _Margaret Carter Rogers_ roll off his tongue like the finest silk in all the world. His lips press against her ear as he plays with the ring on her finger. He whispers how much he loves her, how beautiful she is, and that finally, _finally,_ he knows how to dance.

She smiles back and kisses him, murmuring, “Thank you for being the right partner.”

**iv. home**

Before she knows it, they’re shopping and buying and talking to realtors about two-story houses in respectable neighborhoods. Tony is offering suggestions ranging from decorating advice to home security systems, and Steve has to reassure the man that if they need anything, he will be the first person they ask (which doesn’t stop him from sending Pepper over with a basket full of gift cards to every store under the sun once the Rogers are all moved into their new home).

Natasha comes over with Sam and Clint under the guise of helping them unload boxes from the truck. The boys end up unloading the truck in less than half an hour, leaving the women unsurprised and preparing to delegate tasks. They all end up several hours later lying on the floor with the vodka that Nat just happened to have in her car. Peggy lies with her head in Steve’s lap, feeling warm and happy. Clint is curled up asleep, nestled against Natasha’s side, while the Russian woman laughs at something Steve has just said. Sam is leaning against a stack of boxes, a contented smile on his lips.

All that Peggy can know in this moment is that she is blessed, surrounded by people who love her, surrounded by this overwhelming sense of _this is right_ and _I’m where I need to be._ Because she knows that with these people, in this place, she is home.

**v. tease**

The dress is something that Tony had stumbled upon when going through some of his father’s things, and it makes Peggy smile to remember the careless forays of Howard Stark. She shakes her head as she slips it on, dabbing red lipstick across her lips in her signature style.

“Peg?” Steve calls. “Are you coming to bed soon?”

“Yes!” She responds. “Just a minute!”

She cracks the bathroom door open to see Steve sitting on the bed with his sketchpad resting against his legs. He’s completely engrossed, giving her the perfect opening to sneak out and wrap her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Hello, soldier.”

He moves to kiss her back, only stopping when he notices the USO girl dress that she’s wearing. “Where on Earth did you get that?”

“It’s a secret,” she says, leaning away from him. “Don’t tell me you never thought about snagging one of those chorus girls.”

“I really didn’t,” he sheepishly admits. “I was always too busy thinking about snagging you.” He pauses, cocks his head to the side, “And trying to figure out what fondue was.”

She laughs. “Well, now you’ve got me,” she grabs his hand, “and I must ask, what’s your plan?”

“Plan?”

“Oh, you know,” she smiles at him with teasing in her eyes. “’Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way?’”

Steve groans, leaning back against the pillows. “Peggy,” he whines, though smiling. “I hate that song.”

She doesn’t relent. “’Who vows to fight like a man for what's right night and day?’”

“You’re going to pay for this,” he promises, trying to reach over and grab her. She slips from the bed as he gets tangled in the blankets and runs into the hall. 

“’Who will campaign door-to-door for America,’” she sings loudly, laughing at her husband.

“Margaret Rogers!” he yells, finally freeing himself from the bedclothes.

She keeps singing and runs barefoot down the stairs. “’The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!”

He’s right behind her and almost nabs her skirt as they run through the kitchen. She jumps over one the chairs in the dining room, slides around the coffee table in the living room, and falls laughing into the couch when she trips over the rug and he’s there to catch her even though she’s just fine, and his face is just centimeters from hers.

She’s out of breath, and his body pressing into hers isn’t helping at all, because he’s here and he’s hers, and the thin cotton of his shirt lets her relish in and remember the contours and planes of his chest. He must feel the charge in the air as well, because he’s kissing her desperately and his hands are on her waist, in her hair, at the back of the dress where it fastens.

“Peggy, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love you in this dress,” he leads a trail of kisses down her jaw to her neck. “But I love you a whole lot more out of it and in my arms.”

“Whatever you want, Captain. It’s your plan,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Tease.”

**vi. _capax infiniti_**

This small, warm bundle in her arms is half of her, but more importantly, half of him. She’s so in love with this baby in her arms, wrapped up in her infinite possibilities, and Peggy dreams of what this girl will do.

Sighing, Peggy lays back against the firm body of her loving, doting husband. “She’s perfect,” she whispers, in awe of the life they have created. Every doctor had told them that their chances of bearing children to term were slim, because of the procedure Peggy had chosen back in 1948. But this baby in her arms is living proof of living history, the promise of so many days to come.

“I love you, so much,” Steve whispers against her skin.

“And we both love you,” Peggy tells him as he wraps his arms around her waist.

He kisses her cheek, resting his head against hers. “Get some sleep, Peg. I’ll watch her.”

She leans back against him, wondering what a sight they must make, like Russian nesting dolls, sweet Sarah Rose in her arms, and Steven encasing them both. She falls asleep to the soft voice of her husband, singing long-lost lullabies to their daughter.

_Rest tired eyes a while_  
 _Sweet is thy baby’s smile_  
 _Angels are guarding and they watch o’er thee_

**Author's Note:**

> The lullaby at the end is The Ballyeamon Cradle Song, an Irish lullaby that I found. I wanted to pay tribute to Steve's Irish-American heritage, and in my mind, his mother sang this to him when he was young. I found it here, in case you're interested: http://www.lullaby-link.com/an-irish-lullaby.html
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
